The Line Begins to Blur
by Counterfeit God
Summary: The General Sephiroth's descent into insanity was not as quick as it seemed. The seeds were planted long ago, and began to grow even before Nibelheim. Warnings: Thoughts of suicide/attempts. Insanity. Dark.
1. Germination

A/N: I've always known that insanity is basically a process. It doesn't just happen, but is something that is progressive. Sephiroth always struck me as someone barely tethered to control, someone with secrets. His lovely arrogance and self-confidence always made me believe that his craziness started long before he learned about 'mother'. Anyone who is that sure of themself...they usually have something to hide.

This will be a few chapters, if I ever get around to writing it...haha. We'll see.

* * *

The lights were off in the upper part of the building, for once. The absence of light was calming on the man who was laying on the cold, black marble of the kitchenette of his apartment.

His eyes were closed, silver hair was splayed out like a silken blanket over the stone, and the leather coat lay forgotten a few feet away, an ebony lump on the too-white carpet.

Caught in a black hole of absolute nothingness, a world where beliefs and feelings had no hold—that was what it was. Just his mind, placid, disgusting calm as it grasped onto thoughts that poisoned and promised permanent release in distant, dark whispers.

To say that he was stable...it would not be the truth. He had long ceased to worry over whether or not it was sanity or insanity. Whichever it was, it did not matter, as either was simply a matter of opinion.

Death. It was always the lifeblood of someone else, never his own. Perhaps that was why his lips were curled into a harsh, upturned line.

The puddle near the right side of his head was growing steadily larger, tarnishing polished stone and staining errant, soft strands of shimmering silver hair.

There was a constant burning from the wounds slashed haphazardly across white wrists. Twenty or so to each arm, all stinging in warning as they seeped onto the floor.

The formerly porcelain chest was covered in scratches, and the occasional deeper mark, which had come from deft white fingers pulling the smaller wounds into larger ones, tearing flesh until it gaped apart like grotesque smiling mouths.

The coolness of the marble gave aid to the sword slashes across his back, and the pressure of his weight and the mako in his system had long stanched their profuse bleeding. It was his forearms that were the mess, but the mako would eventually put an end to that as well.

It wouldn't work, it never worked. That was probably why the grin had turned bitter and silver brows knitted, while white teeth clenched in hatred.

This was what he had become? This was the great General Sephiroth?

He felt at peace only when he killed. It had taken years for him to accept it, to embrace the monstrous urges that plagued him.

But that was not the reason he was lying in his own blood with only thoughts of death.

Green eyes stared at the sloped ceiling, dry, without tears.

This world, this place...it was nothing. It _meant_ nothing. Even worse, _he_ was nothing. He defended a place he did not care about, he fought for causes he did not himself believe in... Each time he was sent on a mission there was always a silent question in his mind as to whether or not he would ever return. But he _would not_ run, he _refused _to run.

_What was suicide?_ The dark part whispered, taunting, evil.

Running. But what did it matter? He knew it would not work. He would have to stab himself for it to work.

It was being on the edge that brought clarity. It was always after self-mutilation that he was able to clear his mind and begin again, becoming the so-called hero he was expected to be. He always went to the floor a child in mourning and rose from it as a reborn, brooding General Sephiroth.

It was an image, the hero, nothing more. He cared for nothing, for no one.

For years he had not believed himself so cold, so..._inhuman_. He was different, but inhuman?

He had thought that he could care, that he could have at least some of the aspects of existence that others had. Friendship for one.

His eyes squinched shut at the thought.

Zack Fair was out looking for Angeal and Genesis, likely at that very moment.

And here he was, coated in red in his apartment, with all of the lights off.

He hated himself, at first. The feelings, they seemed foreign—not his own. He had ignored them, kept them buried under arrogance and surety. He built up around the broken child from the labs, but he could not destroy that child, could not murder the mind that had decayed under the treatment...

He was never _normal_. But it was not until Angeal and Genesis (and Zack Fair, he thought grimly) that a part of him understood that the monster in him, that decayed child, had taken over every feeling he would ever feel. It would _always_ be there.

Sephiroth used to care. Used to feel. Not much after years of slaughter, but enough that friendship was possible. He had concerned himself over Angeal and Genesis, even Fair, from time to time. But it was passed... The child in him had only tolerated it for so long.

It was when he realized his own stupidity that everything had fallen away. The few shards of sanity had been chipped away and lost, leaving the broken mirror.

He was a pawn of Shinra, nothing but a weapon. He served them, their needs, their wishes, _their_ beliefs. He had always known that was the way of things, but he had never stopped to consider if it was what _he_ wanted. It was as though a part of himself had tried to quell all such thoughts, but they had finally risen to the surface, revealed.

He had not accepted the mission to retrieve Angeal and Genesis. The truth was, he did not trust himself to do it. Whatever attachment he had felt for them...it was fading away more quickly than he was able to repair it. At times he felt as if he could bring his blade down upon anyone...indiscriminately.

The thought was terrible, at first. But the nothingness had permeated every part of his being, rendering him hollow, cold. He could not bring himself to care that he had lost his humanity, in fact he wasn't even sure if he believed in the idea of humanity. What did such things matter to him? He _knew _that it did not. Instinct told him so.

But the fact that part of him remembered, that was what was killing him. He _did_ care, once. His best friends were likely going to die, yet he couldn't coax any feeling out of himself. It should have been wrong, sick, even, but for some reason it wasn't, even when he _knew_ it should be.

Trying to give blood for Genesis, for some reason, that had been a turning point. Unaccepted. Incompatible. Their friendship had long been formed in competition, but over the past months it had become like enemy against enemy, rather than the fun of sport between two friends. Sephiroth knew Genesis hated him, was infuriated over his fame, the treatment and infatuation of the public over this image that Shinra had created to inspire youths to join SOLDIER. Sephiroth had understood Genesis's jealousy over time, but it had become too bitter recently. Genesis was disappearing, day by day. And it was not just the degradation.

If only Genesis knew what being a hero entailed... If only he knew what came along with being a weapon without reason... A lie.

Secretly, Sephiroth believed that the mental change in him was similar to the one Genesis was going through. They were both becoming cold, tainted by the outside world. They both seemed unconcerned about whether or not they harmed each other, or if the friendship remained intact. Genesis was lost to him.

And Angeal...so damned heroic. Sephiroth knew the man would end honorably, no matter what the circumstance, yet the feelings of comradery had faded on his own part. It would be Angeal that was wronged by his own numbness, if anyone.

There was nothing that could be done. He would try to bring the feelings back, but he knew that it was a lost cause; there was nearly nothing left.

The pale form sighed, green eyes unblinking.

The bleeding had finally stopped.


	2. Blurred

**A/N:** I'm just going to say, flat out, that this story was completely unplanned. I posted it on a whim, not really sure if I would even get to other chapters, or want to... There is no real substance to this story, i.e. a lesson learned. I'm just writing it to write it, so if it doesn't turn out well, now you know why. There will be one more chapter to this after this one, and it might take me a few days to get to, because I honestly haven't even decided what is going to take place--I just know that it isn't finished yet. I'm just insane like that.

Thanks to **ghost of gene rayburn** for being such a nice person and reviewing this story (and my other one). Totally made my day :D

Prepare for much Sephiroth insanity, and over all, numb craziness. He gets evil in this chapter, I'm warning you now. You might want to leave if reading about bad things gives you nightmares. It's not gross by my standards (not even close...), but then again, I am sorta sick...

* * *

The helicopter pulled away slowly, revolving blades scattering small pebbles and leaves toward Sephiroth's black boots and down the slope. He could make out the red hair of Reno, the long ponytail billowing around the man's neck, as the machine rose higher and higher.

He turned toward the landscape ahead, noting the slight breeze and dry, earthy smell that accompanied it. It would be easier terrain to navigate than he was used to.

He was on mission, likely the brainchild of President Shinra and Tseng of the Turks. It was an attempt to keep him sane, he knew. They were concerned with his lack of response to Angeal and Genesis's disappearance and thought that occupying him with a duty would somehow lessen the blow and keep their prized General in working order.

Sephiroth frowned, looking down at the small computer-like watch attached to his wrist. He tore it off with ease, ripping through the leather band. He stared at it briefly, turning it over in his hand. It likely had a tracking device in it anyway.

He stepped toward the edge of the red cliffside, kicking a few stray rocks with his boot just so that he could watch them fall.

He waited a moment before he finally threw the small object in his hands over the side, its descent seeming sluggish to his mako enhanced senses. It hit the stones below with a broken clang, then tumbled a few feet before stopping at the base of a giant misplaced boulder.

The Turk was codenamed Cecil. Shoulder length brown hair. Brown eyes. 122 pounds. 5' 8", according to the report. She specialized in assassination, but had recently not terminated a mark, then disappeared soon after. She had been considered MIA for two days, but was later spotted leaving Midgar. A deserter. Her termination was top priority, given her extensive knowledge of Turk affairs.

The Turk was skilled with tantos. She also had a tendency to approach her marks from behind, and stab with two blades simultaneously, which had gotten her nicknamed "viper" by local newscasters, for the fang-like marks that the tantos left behind.

She was several miles away, to the northeast according to recent reconnaissance. It would not be difficult to find her with so much sand to leave behind evidence.

* * *

The footprints that tracked through the powder-like red sand, were fresh. They had yet to even be disrupted by the wind that whipped through the gullies every so often, sending the General's hair in disarray and brushing him with a small flurry of dirt.

She was near, very near.

The prints stopped before the narrow passageway in front of him, turning and going to the left, toward a more open area on the cliffside. He was about to make his way alongside the footprints, when he caught sight of some disturbed stones on the wall of the pathway. Had he been anyone else, he would likely not have noticed the nearly invisible signs, but years of pursuing had left their mark etched in his instinct.

He looked at the narrow path curiously, then back toward the nearby tracks. The ones going to the left seemed smudged, older, while the ones that had led him to the spot were still crisp. Clever Turk.

The crunch of his boots was almost silent, as he made his way slowly around the edge of the sharp, towering walls of red-hued sandstone. His breathing was calm, completely unaffected by the sudden heat that was washing over him from the thought of blood splattered across brownish-red stone.

The quarters would be close, difficult for him to use Masamune to its advantage, which made the prospect of the hunt all the more interesting. He would need to improvise should he find himself "hunting" in such a narrow space.

There were no signs of footprints, or brushing in the sand from covered tracks. That left only a few options. She was either on the other side of the path he was on, or she was still on the rocks above the trail. She was a Turk, and experienced persons always took the advantage of the high ground, in this case, the rock shelf above the trail. Chances were, she was waiting for him to approach, before attacking him from above.

That's when he saw it, a distinct shape at the end of the short, enclosed trail he was walking on. A stiff breeze caused the object to move, and Sephiroth realized, to flap. Canvas. The shape was a small, makeshift brown tent.

Green eyes narrowed slightly, as his vision focused on the tent. His body was rigid, like a predator that had just seen prey, while one of his black-gloved hands traveled to the sword that was magnetically held to his flowing coat.

He waited patiently, all senses as keen as they would ever be, listening to the gentle sound of the wind-blown material and the whistle of the breeze as it slipped through cracks in the nearby rocks.

Pebbles behind him shifted ever so slightly.

Sephiroth could hear the steps as the woman approached, each learned, methodical. She was trying to disguise the sound with the wind, but apparently didn't realize just who had been sent to kill her.

His lips curved into a sadistic smile. He could wait. There was no rush.

She took no chances with her slow advance, only moving when the breeze was at its strongest, sending rocks skittering and causing the sparse patches of yellow grass to sway noisily and muffle her movement.

Sephiroth stayed as he was, knowing she was too far down the path to be able to see him, and was going on instinct alone.

She had somehow missed him as he had gone through the passage, and was only now catching up, making her way on the rocks above.

Sephiroth continued to wait, giving the Turk ample opportunity to make up for lost time.

He didn't bother to remove Masamune, as he moved closer to one of the walls. She was so near he could sense the excitement that was causing her to sweat, and the careful way her breath hitched in her chest in attempt to make no sound.

His body was stretched across the rough red rock, as he saw her shadow dart over the wall across from him.

Without further hesitation, he ascended the wall, his grace and upper body strength serving his purpose well as he climbed the hazardous surface, black gloves taking a slippery, yet strong grip.

She was ahead of him now, still going slowly.

He carefully edged his way onto the top of the wall, catching a glimpse of a black-clad figure moving along only a short distance away.

He got to his feet, feeling the brunt of the strong wind that had been partially blocked by the enclosed trail. She had not even heard him.

"Do you intend to sneak up on me from behind?" Sephiroth asked flatly, loud enough that he knew it would easily carry.

The figure went completely still within an instant, the body rigid. The anticipation had momentarily changed to fear.

Cecil turned, her short bob of hair streaming in her eyes as she faced the person who had spoken. The voice was all too familiar, and set every nerve alight. She knew when to be afraid. The woman swallowed unsavorily, as she looked upon the silver-haired equivalent of an executioner, his blank expression and loose posture bleeding arrogance.

"I must have missed out," she answered, hating that her voice betrayed her overwhelming fear.

Of all the people to hunt her down...they had to send the one person who was virtually incapable of failing. Cecil suddenly knew, staring across at the wicked eyes of death, that the beautiful face of the General would be the last image she would ever see.

Even so, she would not go without a fight.

"Apparently," Sephiroth agreed, stepping forward lightly. He kept his demeanor of nonchalance, though his heart had begun to pick up its rhythm. His green eyes glimmered dangerously as his vision locked with the dark brown eyes of the Turk.

"Why didn't they send one of the others?" she questioned, straightening her back somewhat, in a vain attempt to look less like cornered prey.

"You would have to ask Tseng that question; I personally don't know." He knew, he just did not care to tell her.

"Angeal and Genesis are still gone, then?" she prodded. "Tseng must be really worried to have sent you on a Turk's mission, or he was pressured into it, maybe." She could feel her boldness building in the face of losing her life. "We have to watch out for our esteemed General."

Sephiroth's light eyes darkened for a brief instant, but not long enough that Cecil was able to understand what the emotion had meant.

"Perhaps," he said, "Tseng knows that I take great enjoyment in murdering his Turks."

Cecil's fist clenched slightly at the jab, and her eyes narrowed. "You act like all arrogance, but I know it is just talk. You aren't cold-blooded."

Sephiroth's expression turned amused at the comment, as he felt that wave of recklessness starting to chisel at his control. He was already preoccupied with the thrill of the hunt.

Cecil continued when he did not reply. "I want to hate you...you know, for coming to kill me." She stared across at him, her eyes hardened, yet faltering with feeling. "But I won't, not when I know we are one and the same."

"How is that?"

"We won't kill our friends, for one," Cecil answered, looking to the ground for a moment. "I know that you passed on the mission for Angeal and Genesis to Fair because you knew if you were sent and they got away, it would look suspicious."

"That makes us the same, does it?" Sephiroth questioned, smiling slightly in a way that made Cecil take a step back. He took one step forward in reply, his eyes staring off into the red distance for a moment before returning to the face of the Turk.

"Let me guess...You were sent to kill a Turk, yes?" Sephiroth said. "A friend? And you think that suddenly you must have something in common with me?" His smile had turned feral, as he could feel the familiar urge to violence flooding his system, flowing in the tiny rivers of his veins.

He struggled momentarily for control, knowing what was to come, wanting it, but hating it. The monster had a thirst, and it had only just begun to penetrate his mind after scratching on the surface.

"Yes, he was my friend. I wouldn't kill him, not even for my own life," she said stubbornly, her jaw tight from her tension. "We are the same. That's why you don't have to do this. I know you understand!" Her voice had a hint of hysterics to it, barely concealed by her sudden anger in the face of her own killer.

Sephiroth laughed, throwing his head back slightly and allowing the breeze to catch his hair and drag the tangled strands across his face. The sound was so bitter, that Cecil shivered involuntarily.

"You believe in your fight, don't you? It must be refreshing to know where one stands."

With that last statement, Sephiroth swiftly removed Masamune from his back. He held the blade in his left hand, twisting it slightly so that the reflective metal glinted in the light. "I wouldn't know."

He moved without warning, sword slashing so quickly that Cecil was barely able to get a strong hold on her own blades in time to block the strike.

Sephiroth swung at her again and again, not taking time to allow her to warm up. The blows were so powerful that the force sent her stumbling each time, and nearly knocked the tantos out of her hands as she struggled to keep up.

He turned, bringing the blade close to his shoulder before he sent it in a silver line in her direction. It hit her two blades so harshly that the impact threw her smaller body to the ground.

She moved to the side, avoiding the silver blur that relentlessly pursued her.

Sephiroth could feel something inside of himself awakening. Something dormant stirred...

Each attack was exceedingly more rough than the last, and the Turk was already beginning to feel the strain though it had been mere moments. She managed to get back to her feet, but was still being easily forced backward with each attack of the General's oversized sword.

She knew she would be over quickly if she did not do something. Instead of focusing entirely on defending, Cecil was waiting for any brief opening to launch into offense, however, the skill of the General against her own was making it a nearly impossible task. Each time she moved one of her blades, the wickedness of Masamune was blocking its path.

"You cannot win," he said, again knocking the slender woman onto the unforgiving rock. Cecil cried out in pain from the fall, barely twisting out of the way as Masamune stabbed at her almost playfully.

She knew that he was only toying with her.

Sephiroth could feel himself slipping away, feel the way his mind yielded into the chaos that was always underneath it all, waiting for a chance. The stronger aspect of his personality, the one that was making him so terribly numb, so far off, he was embracing it more and more, day by day.

No longer was it just a feeling during a fight, but something that had learned to squeeze its way into every part of his being, every pathetic little feeling...

_Death looms near...a planet bathed in blood..._

Sephiroth nearly dropped his sword, as the voice reverberated through his skull. He shook his head for a moment, his vision obstructed by silver hair. His slight distraction was enough for Cecil to strike once at him, and get up from the ground.

Sephiroth blinked between attacks, focusing on the voice that had suddenly emerged from the depths of his consciousness. Something wasn't right.

_Kill them...kill them all..._

Again, Sephiroth faltered, confused by the voice, momentarily frightened, and giving Cecil another opening for her own offense. He blocked them halfheartedly, trying to clear his mind, trying to convince himself that it was just his imagination, nothing more. Cecil certainly hadn't spoken, and neither had he. It was nothing more than a mistake. It had to be. There was no other explanation. He did not hear voices...

He shook his mane of silver hair in denial, knowing he had no time to sit and think about something that he likely hadn't heard at all.Redoubling his efforts at blocking, and again forging his own attacks, he flied into a rage at the woman, an animalistic snarl rising from his throat.

Each strike cut the voice further from his thoughts.

It did not take long before Sephiroth's reckless abandon to his own fury easily smothered whatever hope had been building in Cecil's chest from the momentary lapse in attacks.

One of the tantos flew from Cecil's hand, ripped away by the anger of Masamune. It was sent tumbling across the red stone. Unable to retrieve her fallen weapon without risk of being cut in two, Cecil blocked helplessly with her other dagger.

The General was not himself. His attacks had lost the toying edge of predator playing sadistically with prey, becoming rife with intent. Intent to kill.

Cecil's eyes flooded with terror from the pure insanity of Sephiroth. His eyes were fierce, accusing, his face contorted... He focused on his anger, forgetting all else but the one emotion that could fend off all others.

Sephiroth easily disarmed Cecil with a well-aimed slash, sending her last dagger over the cliff side and onto the path below.

Cecil looked to where the tanto had been flung over, her expression one of complete fear. She was without weapon; the other was too far away for her to reach. Sephiroth would cut her down before she even had the chance to get to it.

His breathing, which was usually calm and measured, was deep and erratic. His sea green eyes were swirling with emotion, mainly rage, as he glared down at the slighter form of the Turk he'd been sent to kill.

"Come here," he whispered darkly, his eyes partially concealed for a moment as his flowing silver hair was pushed across his face by the wind. He quickly returned Masamune to his back, as he watched the Turk.

Cecil shook her head, remaining where she was. Her bravery was faltering under his gaze, but she would not give into the fear that told her to run. She knew running from Sephiroth was not an option. She didn't want to die, but she knew it was inevitable. She would not die running like a coward.

Sephiroth moved forward, grabbing the woman by her shoulder harshly, bringing her face inches from his. "You must die," he whispered, his glove-covered hand snatching onto her mess of short brown hair and pulling her head back.

His eyes trailed over her face for a moment, examining. His pupils were barely-visible black slits, as that sick grin twisted his perfect face. "But not just yet..."

She tried to wretch herself from his grip, even lashing out with a leg to try and kick him, but his body was like a marble statue: virtually immovable.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it!" she shouted, her face reddened from her anger and the exertion of struggling against the hands that were latched onto her as though made of steel.

Something was wrong, so terribly wrong. The look on his face was primal, making his angelic features seem harsh and evil. This was not the same General she had seen walking around the Midgar compound reading stats and watching training sessions...this man was something very different.

She knew that it was time to be very afraid.

* * *

What happened next, went by in a blur to the General, as it had in times past (though he was yet to realize it). This time, however, even though it happened so seemingly quick, he was much more aware of what was going on, and even could feel the edge of control to his every movement. It was not the mindless mentality of slaughter he was accustomed to feeling at times (especially when he was somewhat fatigued), but something else entirely.

It was semi-consciousness, a near euphoric state. And it felt...far too familiar.

The look of absolute horror and disgust in the liquid brown eyes felt much like deja vu. As did the way the smaller body below him was stiff and uncompromising. He moved against it, and it stayed still, never rising to meet him, never yielding, even as his smooth skin brushed back and forth against it roughly, in a way that would have been arousing. The thin legs were barely open enough for him to move between them, and at times the woman's weight shifted as she tried desperately to keep her body closed off from the constant intrusion.

He did not moan or breathe loudly, as he focused only on the feeling itself. It was one activity that did not require him to sit back and think about it; unlike killing, it was simple, clean cut, when the other participant was but an opening to be used.

The breeze was picking up again, at times dusting their bodies with the reddish sand. He moved quickly, pushing in farther than her body seemed capable of taking, as tears streamed down the sides of her face, leaving dirtied trails from the onslaught of sand.

It was her incessant sobbing that affected him the most. Her hands were pressed painfully into the red rock, held above her head by one of Sephiroth's, as his attack of her most sensitive parts grew more hurried and brutal. She cried out loudly at times, wincing and pleading with him to stop, unaware that it was but gasoline on an already raging fire.

All of it, he felt like it had happened before. With each passing minute he became more certain that his body remembered what it was like to force. Faded memories seemed to rise from his clouded thoughts, snippets of tear-filled, frightened eyes...

It seemed to make no sense...at first.

"P-Please...just stop. I–I...please," she begged, her head turning to the side as she avoided looking at the clear expression of enjoyment and lust on the face of the man who was raping her.

He said nothing in return, only letting out a low, rumbling moan as he got closer to the edge he was searching for.

He should have been disgusted. He should have hated himself for violating someone, particularly someone who was no match against him. Everything about the act was so wrong, yet at the same time...so right...

Angeal would surely despise him were he ever to find out what his friend had done. But for some reason, even that thought was not near enough to drag the General's mind or body away from what he was doingall toowillingly.

Sephiroth's eyes closed for a moment as he finally climaxed, the woman having long stopped protesting in any other way besides silent tears, her legs and body limp with begrudged acceptance. He pulled her body closer in the last few seconds, and let out a long, delayed sigh.

Tears were still pouring out of her eyes, cascading down the flushed skin of her cheeks and into her brown hair, as his body moved away from hers without ceremony.

After redoing his pants, he grabbed his coat and put it back on, deftly buckling a few of the buckles, not much paying attention to the woman who had seemed to come to from her mental absence. She was violently crying again, unmoving from where he had left her.

He _had_ done this before. He had raped before; there was almost no denying it. There was too much about it that felt repetitive. It had been easy, too easy...

He shook his head, willing focus. It seemed many things were coming back to haunt him.

There had been incidents during war that he had passed off as dreams or fantasies caused by too much exposure to high concentrations of mako. But when he thought about it, and what he had just done... Those dreams had _felt_ real. They had been so vivid that it had taken hours at times to push them from his mind. There was an answer, though part of him--the one that was dying out--was loathe to admit to it.

They were likely not dreams at all...

In high dosages mako was known to cause sexual aggression in fiends, why not a SOLDIER? He no longer had treatments, he hadn't for years, but there was enough mako in his system to kill anybody else. There would always be side effects... It also explained why he might not have remembered too clearly. It would be hazy, after all, were the episodes brought on by spikes in the mako levels in his system.

And the voice...perhaps the voice was just another part of all of it--not that he was entirely ready to admit that he had heard it. It would make sense, though.

However, no explanation could explain away his numbness toward everything that had just happened. He _had _enjoyed it. It felt good. Beyond that there wasn't much else attached to it, which was the frightening part. But it was not the time to dwell on such things.

He walked toward the edge of the rock, bending down to grab the shining tanto that had been left behind, still deep in his own mental questioning.

It was short for his taste, more dagger-like than reminiscent of a short sword. It was sleek, well made, but likely still fairly brittle because of it. Sharpness didn't come without its drawbacks.

Weapons said a lot about the person who wielded them, and they never lied.

He turned to Cecil, his eyes holding an animal gleam, as he fingered the small blade. She was moving toward her clothes, which he had cast aside carelessly in his rush.

"You won't be needing those where you are headed," he said, stepping within a few feet of her hunched form.

Her doe-eyed gaze locked with his predatory one. "Fuck you," she spat, a few more tears escaping from her eyes. Her body was reeling from exhaustion, but her mind refused to give in entirely. The few seconds that Sephiroth's green eyes hadn't been staring down at her had allowed her reserve of hatred from what he had just done, to be expressed.

Sephiroth laughed lightly, as he grabbed her by her hair. He hauled her naked form painfully to her feet, using her hair as leverage, as she stumbled across the slanted surface of rock trying to find purchase.

The tanto was in his left hand, as he let the metal trail down the pale, thin skin of her chest. It left a tiny, bloody trail in testament.

"I was wrong," she said, her voice quavering with emotion, as the blade moved over her skin.

Sephiroth only smiled in answer, already knowing what she would say.

"We're not alike at all..."

"No, we aren't," Sephiroth agreed.

Without warning, Sephiroth shoved the small blade as far as it would go into the soft flesh of her abdomen. He twisted it until it was buried up to the black hilt, the fit so tight that at first only a small trickle of blood escaped.

Cecil was screaming, gasping for breath in an instant, and trying to get away from his strong, insistent hands. But he held her in place, easily fending off the blows she tried to land anywhere she could reach. Even as her fists beat against his firm chest, he did not release her, but only began to laugh a hollow, emotionless laugh.

"The futility of humanity. It is only when threatened or dying that they become the monsters they were meant to be..."

Sephiroth finally let go of the Turk's hair, throwing her effortlessly to the ground, where she sputtered and cried out in agony from the blade that was plunged into her stomach.

"If only they could realize that they could _always_ possess such strength, _always_ wield it..." Sephiroth stated offhandedly, his smile sardonic, as he stood over the form of the dying woman.

"It's just too bad," he said mockingly, as his boot rested on the handle of the sword, forcing it further, and moving it slightly from side to side cruelly.

Cecil was writhing from the pain, but could feel the edge of shock already beginning to set in. She knew the pain would ebb off soon, lose its overwhelming intensity...

He ripped the blade from her body after a moment, staring at the reflection of his green, cruel eyes in the metal and the red of the dripping blood.

"I will never be weak as you are," he said, smiling.

"You're sick," she breathed out between gasps, "You're fucking sickening, and you'll get what you deserve!"

"Deserve?" He seemed to contemplate the word a moment before he spoke again. "None of us _deserve_, there are only those who do not take what is offered or are too weak to do so. The universe doesn't work with any more bias than the fact that some are more suited to live, while others are more suited to die."

He knelt gracefully beside Cecil, revolving the tanto in his hand, watching the way her eyes were already starting to dim from the blood loss, and the way her breathing was tainted with her pain.

Sephiroth skillfully forced the blade back into her gut, taking in what would be the Turk's last expression: a mixture ofincredible pain and complete hatred.In one clean motion, he severed the flesh up to beneath her sternum. There was a choking sound from the Turk, which was more or less cut off as he left the blade buried where it was.

Her eyes lost the glow of life fairly quickly, as blood pumped excitedly out of the cavity that had been created, no longer walled in from every side by flesh.

Sephiroth didn't bother to remove the tanto as he rose to his feet, somehow both excited and revolted. The Turk, by anyone else's standards, probably didn't deserve to die so brutally. But somehow Sephiroth found part of himself believing his own words.

Some were just more suited to death.

It was then that he knew that the line between sanity and insanity were beginning to blur.


	3. Monster

A/N: I hope this isn't terrible; I have my doubts. Trying to explain numbness is like trying to explain color to a blind person who has never seen.

Thanks to **CornCob** for reviewing! Yes, I am back, I can't stay away from my Sephiroth play-thing.... :)

**Disclaimer:**The dialogue from the bolded sections (the talking between Zack and Sephiroth, then the later part where Genesis calls Sephiroth a monster) is taken directly from Crisis Core. I don't own, and no copyright infringement intended. I just thought the scene was done so well and fit so perfectly with this that I would use those parts to help this story along. You'll also notice that I changed this around a bit to fit better with Advent Children. The whole thing about Sephiroth thinking Jenova was a Cetra isn't really in Advent Children, so that's why I didn't use that idea.

* * *

Reports were scattered about. Paper after paper was thrown carelessly to the floor as the General searched for answers. The large mahogany desk could not even be seen underneath the layer of scientific documents haphazardly strewn across it.

Sephiroth was perched on the edge of the high-backed leather chair, his face betraying a mind that was in overload. A mind tinged with insanity. The set to his jaw was different somehow, as was the way he held himself, though he had yet to notice.

Mako-green eyes flitted swiftly over each line of text, and then the document was cast aside.

He looked for one word: Jenova.

His concentration was lax, however, given his preoccupation with everything that had happened, the revelations that had been revealed. There was no escaping what had been said. Even his strongest mental barriers were like castles of sand in the face of a tsunami. Thoughts were decimated by the plaguing truth...

_Monster..._

It was all he could think about; a thought that had wedged its way deeply into every part of him. It was a mental splinter that eventually would be the death of him, though he did not yet know it.

The scene played before him, so crisp and pristine, like the reel of a movie. He knew he would never, perhaps even in death, forget what had been said.

**"You average SOLDIER members are mako-infused humans," he answered, looking over Zack's shoulder and into the small glass window of the tank. **

**"You're enhanced, but you're still human." Sephiroth paused for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts, before looking back at Zack. "But then...what are those things? Their mako levels are exponentially higher than yours."**

**Zack rested against the tank, both arms holding onto either side as he stared in at the creature it contained. "Are they...monsters?" he asked, his voice betraying a small amount of trepidation.**

**Sephiroth turned away slowly, his gaze to the ground. He took several steps away, then stopped, his back to Zack. He did not answer at first, as his mind was already being pulled in every direction from the mere thought of what the creatures in the tank were...how they related to...him. **

**"Yes... The Shinra scientist Hojo was the one who created them." Sephiroth turned back to Zack, finally, his green eyes relaying his own confusion and teetering control. "Abominations spawned by mako energy... That's what monsters are." **

**Sephiroth could feel himself beginning to grow faint, the heat of realization spreading over his face and limbs, uncomfortably heating him under the thick leather of his clothing, and further shaking his broken control. There was a prickling warmth in his brain upon Zack's next words, the ones that spoke the thoughts Sephiroth did not want to acknowledge or voice even to himself. **

**"You said "average" member. What about you?"**

Damn Zack Fair.

Something inside of Sephiroth had died in that instant. It was the moment that everything had begun to fit into place. All of the numbness, that horrible lack of feeling that had become both the hardest part of his existence as of late, as well as his greatest asset...there was finally a reason behind it. He could no longer pass it off as side effects of his more than deadly mako levels.

It wasn't a normal thing to have no feeling, nor was it easy to understand, even by those who have felt and existed through such a horrible blackness. Sephiroth could just barely grasp all of its meaning though he had certainly dealt with its repercussions long enough. It was something _humans_ likely wouldn't be able to fully comprehend. Wait...

Human.

The word repeated long after he had thought it, thrumming like a pulse beacon against his fractured sanity. Sephiroth clutched onto the smudged report he was reading, crinkling the paper, as he fought off the sudden wave of nausea that overwhelmed him. His head became light, airy, and his vision cut in and out for a few seconds. He could feel his mind literally _burning_.

_Not human, not human,_ his mind repeated. _Made the same way as those...things... Just a creation, never born, but _made_._

He grabbed hold of the corner of the desk to steady himself, green eyes hidden behind protective lids as he willed himself to calm. He squeezed until he felt well enough to open his eyes, which took several seconds, and only happened when his hand began to throb from the impossible strength behind his grip.

When the cat-like slits focused back onto the paper in his hand, his world darkened in warning for an instant. Then came the flash...

**Pleading tear-laden eyes...deep brown, filled with fear, and even hate.**

That image whitens and is replaced a second later...

**Different eyes, several of them... Red faces, wet from crying, from pain...faces all belonging to some other girl that he'd....**

He shook his head angrily, teeth clenched defiantly to whatever had chosen to bring such images into his already unstable mind. He growled lowly from the depths of his chest.

Monster...

There was no denying it.

It was in times of clarity that the numbness made him self-destructive. And those 'times of clarity' seemed to come at the worst possible moments.

Numbness is never just _numb_. It is everything yet nothing.... Strong yet weak. It can last for what seems an eternity, then as quick as its onset, it lags behind, allows short little bursts of reprieve---to keep its host alive. But never all the way, never back to _normal_. Once it had touched upon his mind, Sephiroth knew that he would never be exactly the same.

There is nothing worse than being without feeling, accepting one's own...shortcomings, then suddenly being thrown into the unfamiliar world of emotion yet again, without the chance to even adjust. Sephiroth knew that being suicidal was the last of his worries during such times. He'd experienced enough of the changes to know that there was more to numbness than nothingness....

Whatever morality and personal beliefs he had once had, came flooding back when the harsh wind of clarity came sweeping by. While still emotionally stunted, there was enough emotion present for guilt and self-loathing to rise above the heavy, cruel clouds of residual numbness.

That aspect of clarity was enough to put him on the brink of insanity. Numbness brought it's own brand of a detached mental state, but it was when Sephiroth acknowledged what he had done, as a _feeling_ person, that things began to get complicated. That things got...destructive.

What had he done?

**"You were the greatest monster created by the Jenova Project" Genesis stated, as though he were discussing the current weather.**

Monster...

Sephiroth dropped yet another document to the floor, releasing a sigh to keep himself from tears. He scarcely believed he was capable of crying, though he knew that if anything were to make him able, it was this.

The transition, it was what turned him from 'monster' to 'friend'. Switching back between states of being so many times.... Monster on the battlefield, friend back in Midgar.... Somehow they had gotten confused. 'Monster' had taken over everything. He had kept it in check for so long, but inevitably failed. Its sinister poison seeped, spreading and spreading, a mental disease....

The episodes in his apartment, the nights spent bathed in his own blood.... Acknowledgment for his crimes. For not being a good enough friend to Angeal, for not being able to be anything but competition for Genesis.... For not helping Zack. For not being able to feel enough to care and change things, when somewhere the old Sephiroth _knew_ he should.

But that numbness, how it loved trickery, how it loved to pull at every last thread to unravel the perfect, hollow package beneath.

He did not care, he could not. He had done only what had come naturally, he assured himself. What was natural was what was meant to be.... There was no 'right' or 'wrong' when it came to what one wanted. And he had most certainly taken what he had desired....

The coil of paranoia that had been started from the word 'monster', was already beginning to dissipate from the comforting thought.

If he did not care then it did not matter, did it?

Even as that clarity became crystalline in the last few hours, the old feelings of morality had already been corrupted from his stint in the world of numbness. It was as though in his absence, what little had been left had finally fallen under the pressure of the mental _need_ to feel nothing.

Monster. From what he had read thus far, it was not he who was the monster, but the ones who had created him. The humans had made something from the remains of Jenova. And Jenova was most definitely not human.

He was what he was. He had survived through battles that would have easily killed anyone lesser, anyone.... Human. It was Jenova who gave him such power, his _mother_ in all senses of the word. The humans had used her cells, manipulated them for their own selfish uses. They were not even deserving of such power....

Sephiroth smiled sadistically from over his stack of papers, his lips pulled tightly across his white teeth, like an animal grin of danger.

Angeal was dead. Genesis would be soon, his greyed hair attested to that---he was doomed without the more pure cells. He and Angeal were Hollander's mistake. And Zack...he made little difference.

Their lives were meaningless. He did not care for them anymore. They were _nothing_like him. He would not be the failure that both Angeal and Genesis had been, nor was he the mako-enhanced human that Zack was. No, he, Sephiroth was not like any of them.

Monster was what he was.

He had _never _been human.

He was ultimately...different.

The thought would have been despairing for anyone, for any person with a semblance of humanity in their soul, that could not bear the thought of the loneliness that was a part of every individual life. To accept that one was completely alone, without ally...for a human being it was nearly impossible...

But for a monster...

The General's smile grew ever larger, uncharacteristically evil in contrast with his angelic features.

* * *

_Come to me...come find me...._

Her voice was dark, seductive even, the same as it had been the first time he had heard it.

Mother had been greatly wronged, the documents had said as much. Those people had taken her chance from her, taken her opportunity to have what she _needed_, what was rightfully her's, what was rightfully _theirs_... He would take the planet back for the both of them, for himself and for Mother.

Human beings were but pawns to be used. They were far too weak and foolish to ever be granted control of something so far outside of their own understanding. They could no longer be permitted to rule their own planet. Mother would have done so much better, but she had not been able, she had been stopped... But he would not fail.

And somehow, he knew, finally, that the voice that had been an urge for blood, a violent monster in himself...

It belonged to her. That voice, it was Mother's. She_ knew_ he was her son, she knew somehow, and she willed him to take his rightful place as a living god.

It was with her blessing that he began purging the world of its festering disease, sending blood, red and streaming like grotesque a banner of celebration for each slash of metal to flesh.

It painted his leathers, stained his face, and rolled beautifully down his sword.

Blood was everywhere, pooling on the ground at his feet as the lifeless bodies of the people of Nibelheim fell to the insane General Sephiroth.

They were in piles. Women screamed, fleeing with their children, only to be cut down from behind without thought, only detached smile. One movement and their lives were taken. One movement and the world bowed down to him, sycophantic upon its knees, to be taken, to be ruled.

It was his. It was all his.

He would have it all, penetrate its furthest reaches with the poison of his soul, take every life back with him on the hurtling rock through space....

Just like his mother did, long ago.


End file.
